


subtext

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Mona Lisa Smile (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-17
Updated: 2004-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giselle, Betty, and interactions in a vacuum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	subtext

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sangerin

 

 

Giselle stumbled into Betty at a mixer one night. She smelled of alcohol and other things nice girls shouldn't, with a hint of vanilla musk rising from her breasts; Betty shoved her off, harder than she'd meant to, but she'd been startled, and Giselle probably wouldn't even notice, anyway. Giselle just laughed, carmine lips pulling off her even teeth, adjusted her cleavage in her tight red dress, and stumbled into a Harvard boy who was more willing to hold her up.

Betty watched, safe behind a twittering wing of other girls, as he offered her a shiny little silver hip flask.

The next time she glanced up, eyebrows creased slightly in disapproval, Giselle and the Harvard boy were gone.

-

"I like older men," Giselle told her one night, carelessly unwrapping a long coat from her shoulders. It settled over the couch, clashing with the cushions. Delicately, Betty set down her pencil, then picked it up again.

"What happened to Clive?" she finally asked.

Giselle tossed her dark head. Her high black heels clicked across the floor as she came to stand next to Betty's desk. In the dim light from the single lamp lit, her eyes were very, very dark, and the curl of her collarbone shaded imperceptibly into her shoulders. Betty carefully sketched another letter as she waited for a response.

Giselle's breathing sounded too loud. Her dress rustled as she shifted; Betty felt the air move, and smelled vanilla and cigarettes as Giselle moved closer. A hand rested on the back of her chair.

"He didn't have enough money," Giselle said, voice just barely too loud. "What do I need with a guy who won't even buy me dinner? And he was lousy at--"

"Giselle," Betty interjected coolly, her tone slightly scandalized.

"Oh, shut up. It's not as if you've never done it."

She looked up at Giselle. "You should have more self-respect than that," she said, because she had to say something.

Giselle sneered. "As if you do."

Betty bent back over her calligraphy, deceptively, for she was still watching Giselle's skirt out of the corner of her eye. Giselle's high heels clicked back over the floor, her dark dress swished around her knees; the last impression Betty caught was the seams of her flesh-colored stockings vanishing into a doorway. For a moment, she thought she might throw down her pencil and follow, though she didn't know what she would do if she did.

-

The next night, Betty wasn't awake when Giselle came back in. She was the one that found her on the couch in the morning, instead, passed out and covered in her coat. One shoe was off. There was a run in the ankle of her stocking, where the coat didn't cover; one white arm spilled over the side of the couch, knuckles just resting on the floor; the button-down shirt she wore was fastened unevenly, and opened far enough down for a flash of lace to show. Her neck was bruised, her lipstick smudged all over her face.

Betty fought down a wave of nausea as she shook Giselle's shoulder. "Wake up," she said, the second her eyelids fluttered. "You're going to be late."

Giselle groaned and twitched, wincing as the lamplight hit her eyes. "Fuck," she muttered.

Betty said nothing else; but she did set a pitcher of water and a glass on the table before she left.

-

"Thanks," Giselle said, with a wide, white-toothed grin when she caught up to Betty at lunch. Except for the dark circles around her eyes, she looked the same as she did every day. She had a green sweater tied around her shoulders, with a skirt of modest length and little swirl.

Betty unwrapped her sandwich slowly. "It was nothing," she said. And then, "Would you like to sit down?"

"Sure." Giselle grinned and offered her a cigarette. Betty politely declined, nibbling at the sandwich's corner. As she chewed, she opened a notebook. Giselle's eyes darted quickly to the page. "French lit?" she asked, sounding desperate for anything to say.

"We have a discussion today," Betty said by way of explanation, eyes sliding down her page of notes.

"Can I quiz you, or anything?"

Betty took a meditative bite of her sandwich, and squinted at the clock. From its position beside an open-curtained window, it was hard to make the hands out. "Why not."

"Okay." Giselle claimed the notebook, reaching over and pulling it right out of Betty's lap. Loose papers spilled onto the floor. "Damn it. I'm sorry."

"It's nothing," Betty said. When they both reached down at the same time, their hands brushed; Betty pretended not to see the faint blush that spread over Giselle's cheeks.

-

When Giselle kissed her, it was in the common room, after all the other girls had gone out to the place they always seemed to go whenever she and Giselle interacted. She thought it was exactly like kissing boys; a little softer, wetter, maybe, but it used the same motions with the same eventual intent. She didn't much care, one way or another, she decided, moving her lips a little and waiting for Giselle to get bored.

She kissed everyone, anyway.

Betty's back began to stiffen from the way Giselle had her pushed back over the desk, so she put one hand on Giselle's white turtlenecked shoulder and pressed. Giselle resisted stepping away, tugging Betty's lower lip into her mouth with a soft noise. Her tongue traced along Betty's teeth as she moved closer.

Betty finally had enough when Giselle's hands descended to her hips. She gripped her shoulders, hard, and shoved.

"Are you done?" she asked Giselle, whose eyes were dazed and sleepy.

"Not quite," Giselle said with a smirk, diving back in.

She wore makeup for the next three days, Betty saw, to hide the handprint on the side of her face. For those three days, they did not speak. Betty noticed little difference in her life. She woke up at the same time, went to the same classes, talked to the same people. She didn't miss Giselle's company; after all, it wasn't as if they'd ever been friends.

 

 

 


End file.
